....that's our trouble.
After hopping back via Kekova and Kas we ended up in Kalkan, where we've remained for 8 days and counting. It's a bijou little place. It used to be a Greek village until the population exchanges of 1922, when it was resettled by Turks. It was then devastated by an earthquake in 1958, after which everyone moved uphill to the new village.
Never one to miss a trick, a businessman from Istanbul bought up the old village around the harbour for a song and then flogged off most of it in job lots to other big city sophisticates. As a result it developed into a Turkish Fiskardo with a surprising prevalence of upmarket bars and restaurants. It has also built up a reasonably large expatriate community. There seems to be so much competition though that prices aren't quite as eye-watering as those in Fiskardo.
The harbour charges, however, are distinctly cheeky. It's 30 Turkish Lira a night for the boat, plus 15 lira for electricity and 5 lira for water. This means that you could end up paying 50 lira (=25 euros = £20) a night all in. That's more than Finike marina, which supplies electricity and water as well as free toilets, showers, and a meeting room and library. Here you have to pay 5 lira for a shower and 50 cents to go to the toilet! You can't use your own facilities either as they impose draconian fines on anyone discharging toilets, shower water or even washing up liquid into the harbour. On top of that there are no stern moorings and you have to go bows to and lay out your stern anchor. No competition you see - there may be hundreds of bars and restaurants, but there's only one harbour. What's happening to me? I'm turning into a Telegraph leader writer. Help me!
The harbour is tiny as well as expensive and it took a bit of manoeuvring to get Birvidik in. After smugly congratulating ourselves on our advanced boat handling skills we were put to shame by the captain of a gulet four times our size who swung into the harbour at speed, executed a handbrake turn and slotted neatly into a space barely larger than the boat. Bloody show off.
We're marking time until we can renew our visas on the 21st of September or thereabouts. For that we need to be in Kas, so we'll probably stay here another week and then make our way East again. Note to Kevin - Kalkan is a lovely place it's true, but it's shut in the winter.
While here Bob has renewed his dive qualification, the papers for which were lost in the infamous Feline St. Valentine's Day Arson Massacre of 2001. This involved three days out boat diving, enormous expenditure and the purchase of a new dive computer, the old one having failed to meet one of the primary specifications desirable in such a device, namely being waterproof.
We also took a day out canoeing downriver. This involved about 14 clueless Brits, including us, the tour manager, assorted lads aged between 14 & 19 and about 10 canoes that looked as if they'd been built from modified plans for a Sherman Tank. The day was interspersed with rapids shooting, lunch, Turkish massages and mudbaths. As the 14 punters included 5 very attractive young women, ages ranging from about 17 to 22, the lads had a field day.
"Now let me see Boss, according to this job description I have to canoe downriver with a load of attractive girls in bikinis, give them massages and smear mud all over them?
And I get paid?
Where do I sign?"
I wonder how many of them enquired about the pension plan.
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Still in Finike - have stayed a little longer than anticipated. Never mind, it's under half the price pf Gouvia.
One of the several contributory factors to our extended stay was the fact that we hired a car for a few days. We took a recce trip to Antalya airport in preparation for our guests' arrivals.
Driving in Turkey is an interesting experience. In theory the Turks drive on the right and give way to traffic approaching from the right. In practice they drive down the middle and give way to no-one. Lane discipline is an alien concept to them. On the rare occasions that the lanes are marked the Turks take no notice of them whatsoever. Overtaking seems to be carried out, for preference, on the brows of hills and approaching blind corners, of which there are many. Failing that, approaching a complex junction makes a good alternative. Red traffic lights are not even just regarded as advisory, they are totally disregarded. During a five hour drive we were virtually the only car to stop at any red light. There we sat doing our 'couple of pensioner' impressions (impressions?). "Pass the thermos dear. Oooh - look at her, what does she think she looks like? Have you got any of those peppermints?" Cars screamed past us on both sides kicking up clouds of dust which obscured the still red lights, their drivers giving us quizzical and disdainful looks.
We were under the impression that the purpose of road planning was to facilitate the flow of traffic and to reduce the risk of accidents. Turkish road planning seems to be part of a grand design to reduce population growth. Lane markings appear and disappear without reason. The right hand lane will suddenly just peter out leaving you with a choice of barging into the high speed pack to your left or careering right down a steep bank into a dried up river bed. If lanes do merge, they usually do so just over the brow of a hill followed immediately by a sharp right hand bend. The Turks have also reintroduced the concept of the three lane road, an innovation that caused such carnage that even the Portuguese phased them out. These have one lane going in each direction separated by an overtaking lane which serves for both directions. This ensures that when the inevitable head-on collision occurs both cars are travelling really, really fast and the resultant bang is really, really satisfying.
Nevermind, we got to the airport. We (well, Liz mainly) had been looking forward to spending an hour or so looking round the shops, getting a paper and a coffee, watching the world go by. The usual airport sort of thing. It was not to be.
Most modern airports are primarily large shopping complexes with a bit tacked on where aeroplanes land and take off. Sort of a loss leader really, just a ploy to get punters into the shops and extract money from them. Just like the Lycian rock tombs, 98% of the complex is front and 2% is where the actual work of airporting takes place.
The Turks have reversed this balance. In Antalya, an airport is an airport. It's an architectural and technical complex designed to get people on and off aeroplanes which can then take off and land - not some namby-pamby consumerist palace. Security starts at the outer doors. You can't get in or out of arrivals or departures, not even to go to the toilet, without a passport and boarding pass. Even with these you can't get more than a metre into the building without being subjected to a full body search and enough X-rays to desiccate your bone marrow. All of this under the watchful eye of about 20 guys carrying enough ordinance to outgun Sylvester Stallone. All meeting and greeting is done in the open air outside the buildings, and that is also scrutinised by peripatetic Rambos.
More successful was the expedition to Saklikent gorge. This is an 18 km gouge cut into the Akdaglar mountains. It is so steep and narrow that the sun rarely reaches the bottom and so it remains cool and the water remains bloody cold. As you make your way further up you have to wade through deeper and deeper water. We were encouraged by a couple of Turkish lads, aged 11 & 12, who latched on to us and shepherded us through. As we were carrying cameras etc with us we called it a day when it got to chest deep. The lads looked quite disappointed.
We had, however, made the mistake of coming on a Saturday. It was mobbed, mainly with Turkish families on a day out. It thinned out a bit as you got further into the gorge and deeper water though.
We were all set to go the next day when Liz spotted something scuttling behind the heater in the forward heads. 'Probably just a beetle' we optimistically declared. It wasn't - it was a cockroach. An hour later another was spotted in the forepeak and then one in the main saloon. It's surprising, actually that it took this long for the little buggers to get their feet in the door. We had tried all the usual precautions such as not bringing cardboard on board and checking fruit etc, but these are only ever delaying tactics. They hide in books, under the labels of cans, in toothpaste cartons. They crawl up mooring ropes and anyway the little sods can fly.
All our ecological ethics shot out of the window in a desperate attempt to eradicate the tenacious little bastards. Apparently cockroaches are one of the very few species that will have no problem surviving climate change and even a nuclear holocaust.
We went to a local specialist poison shop (they have them here - makes you wonder) and explained the problem. We now know the Turkish for 'cockroach', 'kill', 'exterminate', 'without mercy', 'poison', 'Sod the environment', 'CBW suit', 'chemical warfare,' 'nerve gas', 'boric acid', 'dioxin' and 'alpha-cypermethrin'.
The boat was dismantled and Bob sprayed every toxin known to science (and several that weren't) into every nook and cranny. Areas of the boat were sealed off and chemical smoke bombs let off and allowed to permeate. As the survivors came staggering and coughing out of the cracks and channels into other areas of the boat they were swatted, sprayed and trapped in glue. Having presided over this mass extermination we scattered baited traps throughout the boat, just to check.
So far so good.
If none reappear we're off back to Kekova tomorrow. We need to renew our visas soon, so prepare for another diatribe about bureaucracy.
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Or 'How our heroes spent the hottest 6 weeks of the year traipsing up and down the southern coast of Turkey looking for a winter mooring'.
After the dubious joys of wintering in Corfu, we decided to do a bit more research before choosing this winter's location. So we've travelled along the south coast of Turkey from Marmaris to Antalya checking out the marinas en route to see if they match up to our exacting standards, namely bombproof shelter, excellent facilities, helpful multilingual staff, good technical services, cheap and good accommodation for when hauled out, beautiful surroundings, lively social life, good provisioning, interesting cultural opportunities and dirt cheap. Not much to ask, is it.
In doing so we compared and contrasted Marmaris, Fethiye, Kas, Kekova, Finike, Kemer and Antalya. As usual we couldn't make our minds up and had to go back and see them all again. In the end we plumped for Finike as the best compromise and have booked in for 6 months from 1st November. If any other yotties are interested in comparative facilities and prices, leave a message and we'll get back to you.
Throughout this exercise it's been a tad warm. Afternoon temperatures have been averaging over 40 degrees in the shade, and even by 10 at night they're still up in the mid thirties. Bedclothes have been dispensed with except for a thin sheet pulled over between 04:30 and 06:00 when the temperature has, on rare occasions, been known to drop as low as 25 degrees.
This requires some adaptation, physiological, behavioural and environmental.
Physiologically we probably can cope more with the heat than before, but it doesn't feel like it, certainly when compared with the locals. Take walking through Antalya city centre, dressed in light shorts, sandals and a thin, short sleeved, loose-fitting shirt. All effort is made to keep in the shade, even though this means zig-zagging from one side of the street to the other and skulking in and out of doorways like Clouseau at his most incompetent trying to tail a suspect. Air conditioned shops (i.e. almost all of them) become strangely attractive, irrespective of the wares on offer within.
Despite all this we were drenched in sweat. Dark stains spread over shirts, armpits, backs, chests and stomachs. Shorts developed damp patches in embarrassing places. Hair became lank and slicked back. Sweat dripped off noses and earlobes and ran through sodden eyebrows into the eyes, stinging and blurring vision.
Now what are the locals like, walking, and working, under exactly the same conditions? Cool, relaxed, airy and what's more dry that's what. They stroll elegantly down the street in dresses, headscarves, shoes (and socks!), long trousers, shirts and ties, even jackets and hats. Some had vests under their shirts as well. How do they do that? Do they have a sheep dip full of antiperspirant in the front garden through which they're poked with sticks on their way out every morning? "Mehmet! Make sure uncle Ibrahim's head goes right under this time - you missed behind his ears yesterday." And compare them to us. We might as well be carrying a bell and a placard announcing 'Unclean! Tourist of dubious personal hygiene'.
Environmental changes mainly involved modifying the internal environment of the boat. Sunshades are great at cutting out the heat of the sun (hence the name), but they also drastically reduce airflow. So we had to increase ventilation.
This leads us on to a minor ripple in the pool of domestic harmony that is Birvidik.
Not to put too fine a point on it, Liz is jealous.
Of the fridge.
She considers that Bob is obsessed. Every time she turns around he's on his knees before it, gently spraying its delicate inner workings with water. "It's the heat" he says. "The poor thing can't cope - it needs help." Liz reckons it's not the only one.
Liz keeps buying fans (which she's told we don't need) but when she goes to use them they've disappeared. Then she finds them lovingly arranged around the bloody fridge! She's convinced that even if she bought a hundred fans he'd still have them all focussed on the fridge. He even sets a timer to make sure that, even if he's reading a really good book, he doesn't forget to check that the fridge is doing OK.
Bags of ice are bought and stuffed in to help it. If she's very lucky she can have a couple of lumps in her vodka and soda but she reckons that the pained expression on his face when the ice cubes are sacrificed in this way takes away from the enjoyment somewhat.
Still, it's all worth it as long as his beer is chilled.
This plethora of fans does help, especially in bed when one is left on all night in the aft cabin. This just about enables sleep and has the added benefit of stopping our sleep being disturbed by mosquitoes. The new 'Megawatto Typhoonerama' fan creates such a blast of air that any mosquito attempting a bit of vampirism either dies from exhaustion trying to fly against it to get to us or, if trying to go with the flow, ends up slamming terminally into the headboard.
Of course, the combined wattage of all these fans has meant that the wind generator and solar panel can't cope so we've had to buy a petrol generator to replace all the lost amps. If it goes on like this we'll have a carbon footprint the size of Luxembourg.
In behavioural terms, the obvious thing to do is nothing, especially in the hottest part of the day. Which is most of it. So what do Bob & Liz do during the heat of the day? Here are a few examples:
1. Climb to the heights above Fethiye to view the castle and the Lycian rock tombs.
On the way up we were befriended by Elgin who gave us a guided tour and plausible history of the region. He also showed us the Lycian 'prison' from about 3000 years ago. Well, I say 'prison' but it was really more of an oubliette. This was an interconnected series of caves and tunnels, accessed via vertical holes. Prisoners were lowered (or thrown) down one end and only pulled out the other end when they were suitably dead.
No parole there then.
The tombs were fascinating, especially as you could get right up to and inside them. Their public aspects, from the outside, were huge, impressive and elaborate structures, carved out of the rock in the form of temple frontages. They implied the continuation behind of large rooms and imposing spaces.
In reality, the business end, where the actual job of sticking leftover Lycians took place, was a tiny little hole just big enough for a couple of stiffs. 98% of effort and expenditure on image and PR and 2% on actually doing the job.
Human nature hasn't changed much in 3000 years then.
2. Go sea kayaking in Kekova wearing a thick lifejacket and a rubber skirt.
This was led by a guy currently studying for a PhD in Astrophysics. He spends all summer leading adventure holidays, kayaking, canyonning, paragliding, hot air ballooning etc, and all winter at University probing the mysteries of the cosmos.
You needed a PhD in physics to balance the kayak, especially when there are two of you in it as you have to second guess what the other one's going to do and try to counter it. We managed to get through without rolling the thing over, but it was a bit close at times. Especially when we went over a sunken city and Liz decided to lean over the side and have a really good look.
3. Climb up to the castle at Kale Koy and scramble through the ancient sarcophagi in the necropolis.
Do you see a pattern developing here?
There are so many sarcophagi on this coast that it's easy to become somewhat blasé about them, but this area is stunning. There is even a lonely sarcophagus standing in the water off the quay at Kale Koy. It must be one of the most photographed sights in Turkey.
So we didn't take one.
Now all is sorted for the winter we can enter pottering mode. We intend to wander up and down this bit of coast at our leisure and check out the sights we can go to when our prospective guests come out at the end of the summer.
Must dash - got to check on the fridge.
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